


I Don't Need to Be Saved

by TheEchoingSoul



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood, Character Study, Gen, Human Names, Unknown time period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1400827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEchoingSoul/pseuds/TheEchoingSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom is never free, Alfred knows this better than anyone. Yet he chose to end his old life for the dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Need to Be Saved

The world, no, life itself had become warped and flipped upside down within only a few hours, a handful of minutes, in just seconds followed by the smell of gunfire. The new sky rained hideously captivating red petals of withered roses on dusty edges and broken birds while the new ground feasted upon vast volcanoes of blue magma.

Clouds, dusty brown from pollution and dirt, swirled against the foundation of buildings that no longer would bring protection and safety to what once resided inside. A book lay open and tattered upon the ground, the pictures blowing away, stealing the better memories of a time that had already passed by without a single cry or uttering of remorse. They flew and swirled farther and farther, glossy frames ruined.

Leaning against one of the walls was a soldier, a boy of nineteen with blonde hair and stunningly loud blue eyes but those very same eyes stared blankly at the ruined photo album just two yards away. His cracked glasses lay askew on his face, giving the effect of a shattered world.

How did it become like this?

It didn't make sense.

He was the  _hero._

The sounds of cries came from all around him, echoing in his ears their pain. With a small cough he stumbled to his feet, wincing at the sharp pain in his chest and on his left side. Taking haggard steps, he began to walk down what once might have been a road, his ears ringing with illusionary gunshots and the cries of victims that were trampled over, of bodies twisted and mangled with broken bones, of limbs that were gone in just a blink of the eye, and the proud chants of freedom, no matter the price.

A voice whispered into his ear, one that had not left him alone for what felt like centuries, over and over again:  _Freedom is never free. It is being alone._

Perhaps it was right, ever since that day Alfred had been lonely but he hid his fear behind his obnoxiously loud personality, his mask that he had made himself so that others wouldn't forget him and leave him behind. Even if the others found him annoying or stupid, as long as they paid attention, spoke to him even if it was just to yell at him, and glanced his way then it was worth it. The worst thing in the world is to be forgotten, after all.

He was the hero.

All around him were parents, neighbors, nieces, nephews, sisters, brothers, the _survivors_  of the tragedy, crying as they clutched those dear tightly. Their homes lay in shambles, all possessions destroyed, their sense of security lay in pieces along with the bodies laying around them.

"It's alright, it's all okay now." Was their mantra, whispered in hoarse voices as parents stroked their children lovingly as brothers and sisters huddled together for comfort crying over their parents' lost souls. What disturbed him the most was a small boy no older than seven, clutching his sister who wasn't older than three to him, that looked at him with wide blue eyes that asked  _why, why did this happen_? Such innocent eyes tainted.

He looked away. How could you explain to a child why their parents died in something they didn't partake in? How could he look into those eyes and say those words that he had once so long ago chanted?

Freedom is never free.

Alfred knew this better than anyone could. It was a phrase that described him, his country's past, present, and future. That word was just a battlefield that caused pain and harsh words. It was such a simple word yet it was also a double-edged blade that paved the path for death, suffering, loss, and war.

Alfred spotted two brothers, one seven while the other may have been sixteen, that held each other close. The oldest smiled through his debris covered face at the younger one who lay in his arms with a foot twisted at an angle that should have been impossible, his small teary eyes gazing at his brother as if he were God.

Alfred halted as he watched them, his eyes clouding over as he remembered Arthur smiling down at him, holding his small body tenderly as he told him a story, how he would tuck him in at night, when he would lull him to sleep with a lullaby, and how Alfred himself had torn apart those days by the seams. The look of surprise and fear in Arthur's eyes that day when he had told him that he wanted independence, the cocky smirks but pained eyes, and Arthur's defeat that day. That day they no longer were brothers.

Tearing his gaze from the two he quickened his pace, trying to outrun all he'd been trying to avoid, the destruction around him, and the memories of what used to be. The pain in his chest and side became a hollow ache as he moved faster and faster until he suddenly was running, running from every word the voice whispered in spite and hatred.

Not noticing the hollow ground his foot broke through the gap, causing the American to fall over and roll, coming to a halt when his head smacked into a large rock. The new wounds throbbed and stung, a trail of blood had followed him down and a small puddle was softly pooling under his side and head, but he couldn't bring himself to get up.

His mask had shattered with the last lens of his glasses, leaving everything fragmented and distorted.

The little voice was free now, speaking with stinging words as Alfred clutched his ears, trying to block it out.  _Useless. Nothing but a child playing adult._

Alfred's grip tightened to the point his nails pierced his flesh and blood oozed from the small crescent moons. "Go away!" He screamed out until he grew hoarse but it only chuckled.

_You can't escape the truth. You fear the silence. You fear isolation. You pretend to be a hero. You are nothing but a lonely child. You are not a hero._

"Please, go away, just leave me alone!" Tears flowed from his clenched eyes, staining the bloody earth with sorrow.

_You can't outrun yourself._

Alfred shook as he sobbed, that voice, he'd known for a long time that it was his inner self that was afraid of being left alone, yet wanted to distance itself from others and was too afraid to do anything but bring him down. The part of his that grew every time he was ignored, when he fought in battle, when a national affair went wrong, and every time Arthur's eyes flashed with pain when the conversation hit a little too close to home.

Something lightly flapped against his face, causing him to open his eyes. Hesitantly he picked the object up and held it closer to his face to see before bursting into tears and clutching the picture to his chest tightly.

The very picture that had been taken at his birthday party, the only one that Arthur had ever attended. Alfred was smiling as Arthur stood, facing the other way in defiance but his eyes were towards Alfred and held what Alfred had always wanted from him. Arthur looked proud of him.

With shallow breaths the American began to laugh lightly at himself because, all along, he wanted Arthur's attention but was afraid to ask him for anything because he didn't want the man to be disappointed. He wanted to be an adult, to be equal, to be free, and respected by those he held dear, to be remembered.

Alfred smiled as the blood continued to pool and stain under his increasingly shallow breathes and darkening vision.

_I'm the hero of this story._


End file.
